


Alternalis

by inwhatfurnace



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 06:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inwhatfurnace/pseuds/inwhatfurnace
Summary: “Did you ever see the imperial family portrait? My father took it down years ago, but it used to hang in the entrance hall.”
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Ladislava
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	Alternalis

**Author's Note:**

> ladislava: appears  
me: I love you  
fire emblem three houses: >:)
> 
> I wanted to write a Ladislava & Edelgard support chain and then Hubert snuck in here somehow…please forgive any egregious mistakes here, especially related to the timeline or how timeskip Edelgard’s crown and hair work...

`ENBARR: YEAR 1181`

“Count Bergliez speaks highly of you,” the new emperor says, her eyes skimming over the letter of recommendation in her hand. Edelgard is freshly crowned and seated on her throne, the picture of imperial power even in her academy uniform.

“He’s very generous,” Ladislava replies. The emperor hands the letter to her retainer, a pallid-looking man with an unblinking gaze -- he must be a Vestra. Behind her sits Ionius IX, gaunt and glassy-eyed, speaking softly to a man Ladislava has never seen before, his hair is a strange spring green.

All of Enbarr is wild with upheaval, but the throne room is still, as if commanded into tranquility by its new ruler. They are in the eye of the storm, perhaps.

The emperor appraises her, and slowly, her expression softens. “I think you will make a fine leader of my personal guard.”

Ladislava falls to one knee and bows her head. “It would be a great honor, Your Majesty.” The sound of boots on stone echoes through the hall, and she looks up to find the emperor standing before her.

“Rise, Ladislava. Your work has already begun.”

She stands and follows the emperor back to take her place behind the throne. Von Vestra inclines his head in greeting when their eyes meet. He -- Hubert -- debriefs Ladislava a few hours later, and lets her know she is invited to dine with the emperor once they are both done for the day.

Their meal is pleasant and uneventful. Ladislava answers all the usual questions: where she grew up, if she has any living family, her previous service in noble households. The food is rich but far from ostentatious -- a sign of the coming war, or maybe just the new emperor’s preference. They speak very little of Edelgard herself, and Ladislava does not bring up what gossip has made its way down the chain of command. The emperor carries her burdens well.

* * *

`ENBARR: YEAR 1183 `

Most of Ladislava’s free time occurs at night, after dinner, and she tends to spend it reading old regional histories or studying maps. She’s absorbed enough in a treatise about Fódlan’s Locket that a series of rapid knocks almost makes her drop the book into her lap. Opening the door reveals Edelgard, hair down and dressed simply.

“Your Majesty.” Ladislava tries not to sound too surprised. “Please, come in.”

Her room in the Imperial barracks is standard and far from interesting, but Edelgard looks around anyway, stopping to survey the pile of books and maps on Ladislava’s desk.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” Edelgard begins. “But congratulations, General Ladislava. You’ve been promoted.” Ladislava, stunned, is quite sure she is gawking at the emperor. “There will be an official announcement soon,” Edelgard promises, “but I wanted to let you know privately first.”

Ladislava does the only thing she can think to do: she bows, deep at the waist.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

There is a touch below her chin, pushing up gently, and Ladislava follows it, returning to her full height.

“I know it hasn’t been easy,” Edelgard continues, withdrawing her hand. “I am honored by your loyalty.”

“The honor is mine,” Ladislava insists.

* * *

`THE OUTSKIRTS OF GARREG MACH MONASTERY: YEAR 1185`

She lays where she was felled, back against the grass. She can feel her own wet blood pooling beneath her. The stench of sweat and shit and death has been burned into her nostrils. Her wyvern is dead. At least the sky is blue.

She cannot remember closing her eyes, but the next time she opens them, she is staring into the face of Hubert von Vestra.

“Congratulations, General,” he murmurs. The stars are bright behind him. “You’re alive.”

She can no longer feel any part of her body. “Are you sure about that?”

His mouth twists into a smirk. “I never had much interest in white magic,” he says casually, sliding his arms around her shoulders and beneath her knees. “This will hurt.”

They are ripped from the world. The pain is indescribable. 

* * *

Everything is far too bright. Manuela is standing over her. “Don’t move,” she says, frowning. “Linhardt and I had to sew you back together.”

Ladislava lets herself sink back into the bed. _What happened?_ she tries to say, but her voice is little more than a rasp. Manuela brings a glass of water to her lips. Even opening her mouth sends sparks of pain jolting down her neck.

“All of the Strike Force are alive and well, including the emperor,” Manuela assures her, “go back to sleep, dear.” 

Reality bleeds into her dreams after that - Fleche and Randolph saying her name, the smell of smoke, Manuela singing, the shouts of soldiers, the cathedral’s bells ringing.

The next time she remembers waking, sunset has dyed the infirmary red and orange.

“Welcome back to the land of living, General.”

She sits up gingerly, wincing as her ribs protest even the smallest movement. Hubert appears to be rummaging through Manuela’s supply cabinet, though the physician herself is nowhere to be found.

“You’re lucky I have a bad habit of combing over battlefields,” he says over his shoulder. 

She raises her eyebrows. “Does Her Majesty know about your hobby?”

He sighs as he closes the cabinet, an unlabeled vial in his hand. “She does now.”

“Well.” She tries to shrug and regrets it. “You have my thanks regardless.”

Hubert nods, but is quickly distracted by the bell tolling the hour. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment. I’ll let Her Majesty know your condition has improved.”

Sure enough, within half an hour Edelgard and Byleth are in the doorway, peering in to see if she’s asleep.

“You can come in,” she says, voice still weak, but the sight of them pulls her mouth up into a smile. “I’m awake.”

“It’s good to see you again,” the professor says, as soft spoken as ever. “Can I get you anything from the dining hall? They’re still serving dinner.”

“I might be able to keep soup down,” she replies, and Byleth immediately turns on his heel and heads back out the door.

Edelgard sits on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, looking a little lost. She reaches out and pats Ladislava’s hand, and then begins updating her on what’s she’s missed in the three days she’s been out of commission. Not much, fortunately, only that they have made the decision to take Arianrhod. As that topic of conversation winds down, an expectant, almost hesitant quality appears in Edelgard’s expression: the emperor has more to say.

“I’ve also been thinking -- I don’t mean to put you on the spot -- but you may call me Edelgard, if you’d like. We’ve certainly spent enough time together.”

A flush begins to brightens Edelgard’s face, and Ladislava scrambles to make her feel comfortable.

“Thank you, Edelgard.”

Byleth soon returns, with both soup and Manuela in tow. The sudden bustle of activity is a welcome distraction from Edelgard’s low voice and the weight of her gaze.

* * *

Ladislava limps out to the stables a few days later, once Manuela can be convinced to let her out of the infirmary. The horses are happy to see her, coming to the front of their stalls and nickering hopefully as she passes. “Sorry, no treats,” she murmurs, offering each a pat on the nose instead.

At the back of the building are the larger open-air stalls where the wyverns are kept, most of them curled up in piles of hay for a midday nap. But one is empty, completely scrubbed clean. Only the little sign that hangs on the gate remains: _Devana_.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, lifting the sign off of its hook. 

“Ladislava.” The emperor’s voice manages to startle her. “Manuela told me you went for a walk.”

“I wanted to see...” She trails off, voice rough, and shows the nameplate to Edelgard instead. The emperor leans in and traces the letters of Devana’s name with her fingers.

“My condolences. She had a fine name.”

“We are at war,” Ladislava says, her free hand coming to rest on the stall’s gate. “Her death was always a possibility.” _As is my own, as is anyone’s_, goes unsaid_._ “I can only thank her and continue on.”

Edelgard sighs. “I have accepted that many will die for the Empire, as many already have,” she says, “but I’m grateful you’re still here with me, Ladislava.”

Maybe it’s because she’s still recovering, or that she’s lingered in front of Devana’s stall for too long, but the emperor’s words somehow make the world stand still and cause it to spin in frantic motion all at once. She blinks once, twice, against the stinging in her eyes, and the feeling passes.

“I’m grateful to be here.” Ladislava returns Edelgard’s fleeting smile. “I was thinking of taking a walk to stretch my legs. Would you like to join me?”

“I’d like that,” Edelgard replies, “very much.”

* * *

`YEAR 1185: OUTSKIRTS OF ARIANRHOD`

“Edelgard?”

Ladislava ducks her head into Edelgard’s tent and nearly trips over a gauntlet. Edelgard, seated in the corner in a red blouse and breeches, has spread each piece of her armor out on her bedroll. The emperor waits to finish buckling her greaves before looking up. Her hair tumbles far past her shoulders.

“Perfect timing, Ladislava. Hubert has gone ahead with the scouts. Would you mind helping me with my armor?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. We’ll do my hair next, then.”

As Ladislava bends to pick up the emperor’s crown off the bedroll, Edelgard retrieves a brush, ties, and pins from her trunk. Ladislava gently places the crown on the emperor’s head and then gently adjusts it until it is perfectly centered before pinning it into place. Edelgard pulls two strands forward on either side of her head, letting them fall freely.

Ladislava steps around to Edelgard’s back. She gathers her hair together and runs the brush through it once, before separating it into two equal parts. She stills. There is a raised white line that starts at the nape of Edelgard’s neck and follows her spine, disappearing underneath the collar of her shirt.

Ladislava gently guides a few stray hairs into place, fingers brushing over the line as she does so. “Is this an old scar?” 

“Very old,” Edelgard says softly, and mortification runs hot through Ladislava as she realizes the most likely cause of the injury.

“Forgive me,” she murmurs, then ties off both sections of hair just above Edelgard’s ears.

“There’s no need for that. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors.”

Ladislava can think of no reply, and instead gently twists one ponytail and begins to wrap it around the base of the horn, forming a bun. Edelgard is silent, staring blankly at the canvas wall of her tent, and remains so as Ladislava pins her hair, then repeats the process with the other half. It is only when Ladislava comes to stand in front of her to appraise her work that Edelgard’s gaze focuses.

“Did you ever see the imperial family portrait? My father took it down years ago, but it used to hang in the entrance hall.”

Ladislava has to cast her mind far back, to the first time she visited the palace with her parents. The painting had been of Ionius IX and his ten children, and the artist had masterfully managed to fit all of them on the canvas.

“I do.” She kneels in front of the emperor to place a few more pins, just to be safe.

“I don’t have many memories from my childhood, but I remember sitting for that portrait. I spent most of it trying to keep my little sister from squirming out of my lap.”

The memory is clear now in her mind’s eye, and Ladislava can see a young Edelgard, eyes bright and hair dark, seated at the front of the group, holding the youngest princess in her arms. All of Edelgard’s siblings had looked like their father’s children, whether in the shape of their eyes or the curve of their nose.

“Those who gave me my scars destroyed my family to make an emperor without peer. I intend to be one.”

Edelgard’s brows are furrowed, her mouth a stern line. Ladislava meets her gaze directly and sees there a deep well of power and fury. Suddenly, as if unearthing the memory had been a great struggle, Edelgard closes her eyes and sighs. Ladislava watches her shoulders rise and fall. “I must ask you not to share that story with anyone. I don’t speak of my childhood often.”

“Of course.”

There is obviously much more to young Edelgard’s departure and return to the Empire, but it is also clear that her story ends there for today. They fall into silence as Ladislava helps the emperor with the rest of her armor, the sound of buckles fastening and metal plate shifting filling the tent. It does not take long, both of them familiar with fastening mail and armor.

“Well? How do I look?” The teasing tone of Edelgard’s voice sends a thrill right through her.

Ladislava reaches out to free the strands of Edelgard’s hair that have gotten stuck beneath her breastplate. The emperor is ready for battle.

“Terrifying, Your Majesty,” she replies. Edelgard’s smile is amused and appreciative, and when Ladislava holds out a hand to help her stand, she takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> My sappy idea for their paired ending was that Edelgard eventually abdicates and she and Ladislava move the countryside where they take care of retired wyverns...
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/amyrran).


End file.
